Steps Closer
by Joon
Summary: The lives of Ianto Jones and Jack Harkness circle each other through the years. Four stories in total.
1. Near Death Experience

Small spoiler from "Something Borrowed."

* * *

"Can you fix it?"

Huw turned the coat over in his hands, his fingers lightly stroking the strong wool, lingering over the barely attached buttons. There were large gashes running down its sides and back. The left sleeve was nearly torn off at the seam while the right sleeve was practically shredded by what looked suspiciously like teeth marks. Large teeth marks. There were stains on the collar and the torn lapels that had to be blood. Lifting a lapel closer to his face, Huw studied it before glancing up, an eyebrow quirked.

"It's a long story," said the customer, putting on a smile that just belied the worry he'd exhibited earlier when he'd entered Huw's shop, holding the coat like it was a dying loved one.

Despite the damage, Huw could tell the coat was gorgeous. And authentic. It was a true RAF greatcoat, complete with the original epaulettes that showed the wearer to be the rank of captain. Huw looked at his customer again with a skeptical eye. The man was maybe a year or so older than Huw himself. There was no chance he could have been old enough to serve during the second World War.

"I've taken it to three different tailors already and they all said it was a lost cause," the man continued. "One of them said I should just get a new one, but that's not an option."

"Yes, it's an original," Huw agreed. The idiot who'd given that advice was probably Davies. He could repair clothing with the speed of a machine, but the man had little respect for certain aspects. If something wasn't new enough to Davies, it might as well be in the bin.

"It belonged to my father," the customer explained, answering Huw's earlier, unasked question.

Turning the coat over again in his hands, Huw ran his fingers over the gashes. Those would be difficult to mend, but the shredded right sleeve would be the biggest challenge. The left sleeve and blood stains would be comparatively easier.

"It's taken quite a battering," said Huw. "Were you wearing this in a pub brawl?" he couldn't help asking. _Possibly one involving lions?_

He looked up in time to see an amused, almost proud expression. "Something like that," the customer answered.

"I doubt your father would have appreciated it."

A look of surprise shot across the customer's face at the reprimand. It looked like he was about to argue back before something in Huw's stern eye seemed to deflate him a little. "Yeah. You're right," he conceded.

Huw mildly cleared his throat and carefully refolded the coat. "I'll see what I can do, sir," he said. "But I'll need to inquire about getting the proper fabric for this sleeve. If you'll wait a moment, I can make the call now and let you know how long it'll take."

A large smile split the other man's face and for a second, Huw was a little stunned by how that seemed to transform his look entirely. "Thank you," he said, sincerely with relief.

Taking the coat with him, Huw pushed back the curtains splitting the storefront from the back. He phoned a Mr. Meredith Hughes who did wonders in locating the most difficult types of cloth and placed the order to arrive tomorrow. It was after he'd put the phone back on the cradle that he noticed a shoe poking out from underneath his desk. Carefully, he slung the greatcoat on his desk and crouched down to peer underneath. His son's small face peered back at him, guiltily holding a map unfolded on his lap. To his credit, Huw didn't let any of the shock he felt show up on his features.

"Ianto? What are you doing down there? Or for that matter, what are you doing here?"

"I'm off to London, Dad," he announced as confidently as befitting a six year old.

"London? Why?" Huw inquired.

"I'm going to have an adventure."

"Are you now?" said Huw, mildly. He reached over and gently took his son under his arms to pull him out from the confines of the desk. "Off to London before you've had your tea?"

Ianto made a face. "Aunt Winn's cooking tea," he said by way of explanation.

Huw tried to hide his own grimace and failed. His sister was a horrible cook, though she did make exceptionally good coffee.

"Your mam'll be worried sick when she finds you gone," said Huw, absently brushing at the dust that clung to his son's jumper. "This isn't like our old place, Ianto. She won't know who to call if you go missing."

"But I'm not missing," Ianto argued. "I'm going to London."

Huw noticed the map Ianto still clutched in his hand. "You finding your route, then?"

He saw a long squiggly pencil mark that Ianto had drawn from Cardiff to London. He could also make out an erased, but still vaguely visible line Ianto had drawn from Cardiff to Newport. Huw sighed. He knew how much Ianto hated the fact that they'd moved. Granted, Newport was only a 30 minute car ride from Cardiff, but it was still a change, which had bothered his son a lot more than he'd visibly let on. A reprimand rested on the tip of Huw's tongue for his son who knew he wasn't allowed to walk around outside without an adult. But Huw knew the change in house, which was smaller and constantly being overrun by his sister, who often insisted on helping them settle in, had been hard on his son along with the change in schools. And he hadn't even been able to spend all that much time with his family at their new home now that he had a new shop to take care of. Ianto was his only child and somehow he still felt like he was neglecting him, which wouldn't do. He lightly set Ianto down on his desk, next to the greatcoat, until they were more or less eye to eye.

"How old are you now?" he asked, knowing full well.

"Six and a half."

"As old as that?" Huw feigned surprise, though he noted Ianto looking a little skeptical at his performance. "Well, in that case, you're definitely old enough to learn a thing or two about how the shop is run."

That got a sudden spark to light up in Ianto's eyes before he quelled it with a serious frown. "But, you said I couldn't help until I was tall enough to see over the counter," he pointed out. "It's a rule." Though it was a half-hearted argument as his intense desire to work with his father warred with his general belief that one had to follow the rules.

"We'll make an exception for today," said Huw. Picking up the greatcoat, he presented the non-bloodied side of it to his son. "Look at this, Ianto," he said, reverently. "This is an original. Do you know what that means?"

Ianto tentatively reached out a small hand to touch the coat, looking at his father first, who nodded his permission. "It means it's like your watch," he replied, giving the blue-grey fabric a soft pat. "It's really old."

Huw nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"It's all torn. But you're going to fix it, right?"

He'd been a father for six and half years now and still Huw sometimes found the utter trust and faith his son had in him a little frightening. But he gave his son a fond smile. "Of course I am. When I'm done it'll be right as rain. Now, I need to tell the gentleman outside that his coat is in good hands. Call mam and let her know where you are."

When Huw returned to the storefront, he found the customer idly admiring a suit Huw had hung up to work on before he'd been interrupted.

"I like this suit," said the customer, fingering one of the buttons.

"I'm afraid it's not for sale," Huw replied.

"I'm not really a suit wearing kind of guy, actually," he said. "But I do appreciate a guy who can." There was a certain suggestive leer on the man's face as his blue eyes seemed to rake over Huw and the suit he wore. Huw bit back an amused laugh.

"The wool I'll need to mend the sleeve will be in tomorrow," Huw informed. "If you come the day after that, your coat should be ready. I'll just write you out a receipt."

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, Ianto sat quietly in the desk chair Huw wheeled into the storefront and watched his father work. Customers walked in with the odd shirt in need of mending or trousers needing to be measured for. It was all work Huw needed, but he found himself slightly annoyed at the interruptions as he wanted to go back to working on the greatcoat. There was a sense of excitement running through his fingers as he carefully mended the gashes. It had been a long time since he'd been given a task that truly required some deft artistry and skill. By closing hour, Huw all but slammed the curtains down so he could go back to the coat, uninterrupted.

By his work bench, he'd laid out a pile of receipts for Ianto to organize by month to keep his son busy. With studied concentration, the boy carefully wrote down each receipt's total on a piece of paper he'd been given to tally up in surprisingly neat handwriting.

"You're very good at that," Huw remarked from his spot. "Anyone ever tell you you'd make a good accountant?" he asked, teasingly.

"I don't want to be an accountant," Ianto answered, seriously.

"Do you know what an accountant does?" asked Huw.

Ianto shook his head, setting down a receipt in its appropriate pile. "But I don't want to be one. I want to be a tailor, like you."

Huw smiled, though privately he hoped his son would choose something else to do with his life. It wasn't that Huw didn't find great happiness in his work, but like all parents, he wanted his child to become something more, accomplish more, than himself. "You'll have plenty of time to decide what you want to do. You're only six."

"And a half," reminded Ianto.

"And a half."

"And you said that was plenty old," Ianto added.

"Right, anyone ever tell you you'd make a good solicitor?" Huw grinned. Looking over, Ianto saw his father was joking and smiled back, though he wasn't entirely sure what a solicitor did either.

"I'm done," Ianto announced, capping his pen. "Is the coat fixed yet?"

Keeping his hold on the needle and thread, Huw flipped the coat over, the front now free of any blood stains and its sleeve re-attached. "It's still on the mend. What do you think?"

Ianto moved closer to his father's work bench and looked at the coat. It looked even nicer with the sleeve on. "It's old. But it looks new."

"The key is to pull the stitches lightly like this," Huw demonstrated. "You put in enough and they'll hold as well as without leaving as much of a mark."

Ianto watched his father's fingers nimbly weave in a stitch and deftly close another section of the slash he was fixing. "It's going to look great," he stated, confident in his father's skills.

* * *

"It looks great!" praised the satisfied customer, seeing the finished product. "You can't even tell it was damaged."

Huw held the coat open. "Would you like to try it on, Mr. Harkness?"

Grinning happily, the man slipped into the readied coat, almost sighing when the familiar folds closed around him. Huw couldn't help but fussily brush at the shoulders. After spending two days with it, he found he was going to miss the coat already. He watched Harkness admire himself in the three way mirror, twisting around to see the back and sides.

"It does fit you quite well," said Huw. And it did. In fact, Harkness looked so much at home in the coat that Huw couldn't believe Harkness' father would have looked any more at ease in it.

Turning to him, Harkness grabbed his hand and gave it an appreciative shake. "You're a marvel, Mr. Jones."

Huw smiled. "I do my best, sir."

THE END


	2. Linger

Many thanks to everyone who left me reviews! Don't let any writer ever tell you comments don't help them march on.

Here's the next oneshot with a slightly older Ianto dealing with a death in the family and inadvertently assisting Torchwood Three.

Mild spoilers for "Fragments."

* * *

Entering the house through the back kitchen door, Ianto immediately felt something was off. For a second, blind panic overtook him as the feeling took him back to two weeks ago. The fifteen year old could hear footsteps approaching the kitchen and just about held back from turning and bolting back out the door. Oh, god. It was going to be Mrs. Price. She was going to tell him his mother was dead now too. Something about grief or suicide or an accident crossing the road or-

The tirade of morbid thoughts ceased when his mother appeared by the kitchen doorway. Still wearing her bathrobe and her hair a mess, she looked terrible. But she was alive and the sight of her shuffling in with her ratty slippers made Ianto want to grab her in a relieved hug. Instead, he let his backpack slip off his shoulder to the floor with a heavy thunk. "Hi, Mam," he greeted.

Bethan looked up as if just noticing her son standing there. "Oh, Ianto. You're home," she said. "How was school?" she inquired.

"Fine," he answered, warily observing her as she wandered listlessly toward the stove. This was actually the first time he'd seen her out of bed since they'd sold the last of his father's effects. "Do…do you need anything?" he asked.

"Just getting myself some tea," Bethan replied. "Would you like some?"

Ianto blinked in surprise and felt a small flip of hope in his stomach. His mother was making tea. And offering some as well. This was a definite improvement. "Yes, please," he answered quickly, sitting down at the table.

Bethan nodded, giving a wan smile as she filled the kettle. "Grab some milk out of the fridge," she instructed.

Ianto leapt to his feet before realizing that they didn't have any milk. They hadn't gone shopping the last couple of weeks. Not that they needed to with all the condolence meals Bethan's fellow churchgoers had piled into their kitchen since the funeral. But when the teen looked toward the fridge, he saw only the off white door and a blank dry erase board staring back at him. Suddenly, he knew what had been wrong earlier.

"Where's the shopping list?" he demanded. They always kept a running one on the dry erase board where they just added things they needed. Milk had been the last thing added to the list. Ianto knew that for a fact. His father had written it and underlined it that day. "Where's it gone?"

Bethan looked up from her contemplation of the kettle. "What?"

"The shopping list?" Ianto repeated, his voice getting slightly higher pitched.

"Your Aunt Winn did the shopping earlier today," Bethan frowned. She watched in bleary confusion as her son yanked the fridge open to indeed see that it was fully stocked with the items that had been formerly on the dry erase board. Ianto slammed the door shut, before turning around, his face furious.

"You let her do the shopping?!" Ianto about shouted at her.

Despite the amount of rage being directed at her, Bethan only blinked, looking bewildered by the inexplicable behavior. "What?" she managed. Without another word, Ianto left the way he came, pulling the door so harshly behind him, the entire frame shook. "No tea, then?" Bethan said to the empty air.

* * *

"I hate Cardiff," Henrietta Marwood stated, flatly. "I hate Cardiff, I hate Torchwood, I hate aliens, I hate my life."

"Hey, you add a tune to that and you might have a musical on your hands," Jack commented next to her in the van. "I hate Cardiff, I hate Torchwood," he sang.

"Oh, shut it, Harkness," Henrietta grumbled.

"Come on, Hennie Pennie. It's not so bad."

"Yes, it is," Henrietta insisted. "And don't call me that."

"Wow, you're cranky today."

"Why yes, yes I am," said the blond. "I'm always cranky when I get called in on my one day off in ages when I should be helping my sister shop for a wedding dress."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm supposed to be in Malta right now," Jack said, good naturedly.

Henrietta shook her head in mild exasperation. "Like you care. You'd stay in Cardiff forever if you had a choice. You love it here." Crossing her arms over her chest, the picture of a perfect sulk, she stared out her window and completely missed the shadow that crossed Jack's face before it disappeared again.

"What's not to love about Cardiff?" Jack asked, cheer lighting up his voice. "It's full of people with sexy accents and an unnatural love for manly rugby."

"You don't even watch rugby," Henrietta pointed out, refusing to be jostled out of her black mood. "Not for the game, in any case."

Jack was on the verge of giving up when Raj's voice filtered into his ear. "If you're done bitching and moaning, Hen, could we get on with the job?"

Heaving a last sigh, Henrietta tapped her ear, "Got movement on your end, Raj?"

"I'm not picking anything up on my scanner," he replied. "There's a fair number of shops about here though. If this thing's as attention-grabbing as you say it is, Jack, Jess and I are going to need you to bring the car around here after we take it down. Dragging it around, someone's bound to notice."

Jack pressed a finger to his ear. "You know, you guys should really look into investing in another car. Or use one of your own personal ones."

"Right and the first time out, I'm going to get Weevil slobber all over the backseat," replied Raj. "I'm not having that."

"So buy a new car for the office."

"Cars cost money," Raj argued.

"You guys pay me enough to freelance for you."

"Is that an offer to buy us a van, Jack?" Alex's voice filtered in.

"A Meenan's about as noticeable as a Weevil," said Jack, rapidly changing the subject. "And they're about as half as strong. Just knock it out and if someone sees you, Raj, use the retcon."

"Oh, no," Alex stated, firmly. "We're cutting back on that pill. Try and exercise some stealth on this one, will you? We're going to end up retconning all of Cardiff at the rate we're going."

Jack sighed, resignedly. "You're the boss."

"Alex's right you know," Henrietta agreed after they'd signed off. "That amnesia pill makes me nervous."

"It's perfectly harm- ah, Meenan! Two o'clock!" Jack exclaimed, pointing down the alley they were currently parked next to.

Kicking her door open, Henrietta took off toward the misshapen, but vaguely humanoid figure still crouching by a set of bins. As she neared it, it leapt up from its spot and roared at her, sounding somewhat like a Weevil that had inhaled some helium. Even a foot away, she could smell its breath.

"You caught me on a bad day, mate," she stated when it launched itself at her. Bending low, she kicked out with her foot and caught it square in its chest, pushing it back a few feet. Recovering rapidly, it took a swipe at her, which Henrietta ducked. She thrust out her hand that held that stun gun and got it in the side as she ran forward, switching places with it.

The Meenan howled, but it didn't go down. Instead it turned to her, its sunken eyes now brimming with the promise of viciousness and pain.

"Shit," Henrietta muttered. "I thought you said these things were weaker than Weevils!"

The Meenan suddenly began to convulse as an electric buzzing filled the air. It dropped to ground, revealing Jack standing behind it, holding a stun gun of his own. "You have to get it in the neck," he explained, gesturing to his own.

"Thanks for that bit of information," said Henrietta, sarcastically.

"Hey, I was trying to tell you before you took off," Jack responded. He eyed the stun gun in his hand with a grimace. "Man, I'm going to be glad when these things get an upgrade in the 21st century."

Pulling a Weevil bag from her pocket, Henrietta fitted it over the unconscious Meenan's head. "What makes you think it's going to get an upgrade then?"

Jack shrugged. "Call it a hunch."

Shaking her head, Henrietta activated her comm. "Raj, we got one. How are you and Jess doing?"

"What took you so long, Hen?" Raj asked. She could hear the smugness in his voice. "Jess and I caught ours ages ago."

"We just talked not two minutes before," Henrietta retorted.

"So fine, Jess tasered the bugger down right now," admitted Raj.

"Where are you?" asked Jack. "We can bring the car around."

"About a block from you. Just meet us on the east side of your street."

"Isn't someone going to see you?" Henrietta inquired. She and Jack had at least the good fortune to nab theirs in a deserted alleyway.

"Nah," Raj answered. He gave a slight 'oof,' and Henrietta guessed he was hefting up the body. "There's a brawl going down in a pawn shop across the street. Some kid's getting nicked or something. Huge crowd gathered there, no one's going to be looking our way. See you in two minutes."

Jack bent down to grab the Meenan's feet while Henrietta took the shoulders. "God bless juvenile delinquency," he grinned at her.

"Two down," she grunted, lifting up her half.

"Only nine more to go."

Henrietta sighed.

* * *

The car ride back to the house was in stony silence as Winnifred Jones kept her eyes on the road, her hands gripping the steering wheel. Next to her, Ianto stared out of his window, refusing to look at her. When they finally pulled into the driveway, Winnifred killed the engine, but didn't get out of the car. Neither did her nephew.

Despite making an effort, Winnifred had finally accepted at some point that she just wasn't cut out of domesticity. She couldn't cook, she wasn't a fan of cleaning and as her mother had often pointed out to her, she wasn't compromising enough to keep a boyfriend, let alone a husband. And apparently, every male in the world seemed to agree with her mother. So, she'd more or less reasoned to herself that she would most likely never be a parent. Which was why she found she wasn't really prepared in how to deal with her nephew.

A voice in the back of her head told her this was Bethan's job. But her sister in law was still only making the smallest steps toward recovering from Huw's death. And whether Winnifred liked it or not, she was the only adult around who was currently stable enough to handle this, lack of experience aside.

"What exactly were you thinking, Ianto?" she blurted out. Ianto only shrugged and a spike of anger shot through Winnifred's body. "You don't DO things like this. You're a good kid. I mean, what's come over you?" she demanded, before giving herself a mental slap. "Look," she tried for a calmer voice. "I know things have been difficult. It's been for all of us. But that's no excuse for what you did today." Winnifred inwardly winced as she realized how much she sounded like her mother on that last sentence and remembered how much she'd hated that tone. But when she looked at her nephew, he only sat silently, finding great interest in his knees. "Your mother doesn't need anymore stress right now."

"Like Mam'd notice," said Ianto, bitterly. "She's useless."

"Ianto Jones!" Winnifred thundered. "Don't you dare speak that way about your mother!"

"It's true!" Ianto retorted, his eyes flashing. "She just lies about all day. A bomb could go off and she wouldn't notice."

"And you thought this was good cause to steal from Mr. Nayes, did you?" Winnifred asked, sharply. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are this is only being treated as a shoplifting offense? He could have sued you and your mother for assault and there are enough financial problems as it is."

After Huw's funeral, Winnifred had been forced to help Bethan sell her older brother's shop and pretty much all of his effects to pay for everything. Even after that, Huw's faltering business had put Bethan into a heavy debt that she was only just keeping her head above.

"I didn't steal from him," Ianto muttered, sullenly.

Winnifred raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And what would you call trying to walk out of his shop with a watch you didn't pay for?"

"It's not his watch. It's Dad's."

Winnifred opened her mouth to reflexively argue back, but then paused. Slowly, she sighed. "Ianto, I know how much your father loved that watch. I know how much you did too and we didn't enjoy selling it, but we had to," she reasoned. "You and I went over this after Mr. Nayes bought it."

"It's not his," Ianto insisted, stubbornly. His hands clenched over his knees as he stared out the front window. "It's Dad's."

"Even so," Winnifred said. "Mr. Nayes owns it. You don't have the right to take it from him. It won't change…" she faltered. "It won't change anything."

"You erased the shopping list!" Ianto suddenly exploded, turning to Winnifred so quickly that the woman reeled back a little.

"What?" she asked, half shocked.

"You went shopping!" he accused. "You erased the list on our fridge!"

Winnifred stared at her nephew, whose eyes were filling with tears and tried to figure out exactly how she'd lost the thread of this conversation. "I…someone had to go," she explained, sounding hesitant, despite herself. "The food from your mother's church was nice and all, but you need your own things. Besides, the list had been up for ages and…" Winnifred trailed off when Ianto broke his gaze from hers and stared out his window again. She saw him angrily swipe at his face with his hand and something clicked her in mind.

She saw herself putting away the groceries she'd gotten in the fridge. She remembered taking a small napkin and wiping out each item on the dry erase board as she mentally ticked off what she'd bought. She remembered having to wipe especially hard as the ink was a little old. But looking back on it now, she realized the list had indeed been up for ages and was therefore comprised of three different handwritings: Bethan's, Ianto's and Huw's.

Ianto had argued, yes, when they'd had to sell Huw's belongings. But her nephew had accepted the harsh necessity of it incredibly well, all things considered. Even as one by one, all of his father's personal items had disappeared from the house along with the tailoring shop, he'd remained stoic about it.

A few hurried lines on a shopping list were such little things. But Winnifred saw that the request for milk, marmite and honey had been really the only few precious traces left of Huw. Small reminders of his presence in the house after everything else had gone. And she'd erased them without thinking. Without considering that maybe there had been a reason why Ianto hadn't gone to do the shopping despite so many days passing by.

Without weighing the pros and cons, Winnifred leaned over the gear stick and wrapped her arms around her nephew. She could feel Ianto's body stiffen at the contact, even as he trembled slightly. He still refused to look at her, taking another rough swipe at his face. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry, Ianto."

"It's not his watch," Ianto repeated, the waver in his voice betraying the fact he was crying.

"I know."

"It's Dad's."

"It is," said Winnifred, keeping her arms around him. "I'm sorry." She could feel the hitch in Ianto's breathing, heard the sob that followed it and tightened her hold as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Sitting there, Winnifred realized not for the first time, but with a painful reminder just how much Ianto reminded her of her late brother at this age. From the way he looked to the way he tried to section and bottle everything away until something shattered. And suddenly she missed Huw so much more desperately.

They sat in the car awhile longer until both their tears subsided. Wordlessly, Winnifred handed over a handkerchief, which Ianto silently accepted. Finally, he murmured, "Mam's going to be upset."

"I'll talk to her," Winnifred assured. "It'll be alright." Ianto didn't look particularly convinced. Reaching over, she tenderly brushed her hand over his hair. "It'll be okay," she promised.

Ianto looked at her, uncertainly. But after a beat, he nodded, his eyes dropping back down to his lap. "Aunt Winn?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for getting arrested."

"It's alright."

"I just…I wanted…I wanted to have something…" he trailed off, taking a shuddering breath.

Winnifred gently squeezed his shoulder. "I know. It's okay," she assured. "How about we go inside? I'll make us a coffee."

"I don't drink coffee," said Ianto, quietly.

"That's because you've only ever had bad coffee," she insisted, trying to infuse some levity. "I'll teach you how to make good coffee. You'll need to learn if you're going to survive University."

Ianto frowned. "I'm not going to University."

"Oh, yes, you bloody are," Winnifred huffed. She knew it had been Huw's wish to see his son attend and like hell she was going to let that dream die with her brother.

"But we can't afford it," Ianto argued.

"We'll think of something," Winnifred insisted. "We have a few years to think about it. For now, let's just get you to master the coffeemaker."

THE END


	3. Nature of the Beast

Next oneshot. Ianto's all adult now.

I've alluded to events that are discussed in the first Torchwood comic, but it's not necessary to know what those events are.

Spoilers for "Adam" and Torchwood Comic "The Legacy of Torchwood One."

* * *

"What's this I hear about the head of Torchwood Cardiff coming to your department?"

Ianto looked up from his task of ketchuping his chips at Lisa's question. "How'd you know about that?" he asked. "Oh, wait. Irene," he guessed.

"She knows things," Lisa confirmed with a wry light in her eyes. "So is it true?"

Going back to his lunch, Ianto nodded. "Rupert has it on his calendar. I'm sure he'll try and duck out of it."

"I would think Rupert would want to meet him. Yvonne loathes the captain on every level. Which means Rupert'll probably love him," Lisa predicted.

"Probably," Ianto agreed. "But it'll take a national emergency to get Rupert out of his labs these days."

Ianto had always found his boss to be a bit too wrapped up in his work. But these days it seemed Rupert forgot to eat and go home unless someone reminded him. More often than not, Ianto had come in to work to find the bio-chemist hunched over his notes, empty coffee cups stacked all over his desk, making it clear the man hadn't ever left the office. Torchwood kept you busy, but Ianto didn't think the behavior was healthy.

"Speaking of national emergencies," said Lisa, checking her watch. "We need to be getting back. But before we do…" A secretive smile lifted her lips as she reached into her purse and extracted a small square package, wrapped in dark blue paper. "Happy birthday."

Ianto stared at the present being waved at him, confused. "Uh…my birthday's not until next week."

"I know that," said Lisa, rolling her eyes a bit. "But I saw this and it was perfect for you. I didn't see a reason to wait. Life being short and all that," she waved off. "And besides," she added with a smug expression. "We'll be too busy celebrating on your actual birthday to deal with presents. Well, the wrapped kind anyway."

"Oh yes?" asked Ianto, returning the grin. He reached across under the table and found Lisa's knee.

She slapped at his hand when it traveled up her thigh. "Oi," she reprimanded, though it was betrayed by the grin still plastered on her face. "I want to see the hands on the table, unwrapping."

Obligingly, Ianto retracted his hand and the set about neatly undoing the tape at the corners of the package. Lisa watched indulgently, though her own hands itched to just rip at the paper. She could never understand how one could deny themselves half the fun of receiving a gift by not tearing at the wrapping it came in. But soon enough, Ianto was sliding what looked like a thick book out from the packaging.

"It's a diary," he realized. Lisa nodded, looking pleased. "Um…thanks, but what for?"

"What IS the Welsh education system like?" Lisa bemoaned. "It's for you to write down your thoughts. Observations. Hopes, dreams, whatever."

Ianto turned it over in his hands. The diary was simple in design, made with thick dark brown leather and filled with cream colored pages that rustled rather nicely when he flipped through it. But the blank pages staring up at him left him a little bit at a loss as to how he'd ever fill them.

"You don't like it," Lisa guessed sadly from the lack of reaction.

"No, no," protested Ianto, quickly. "It's beautiful."

"But?" she prompted.

"I just…I don't really keep a diary. I guess I'm confused as to why you'd get me one," he admitted.

"You might find it useful," Lisa stated, stealing a chip off his plate. She took a bite, her eyes narrowing as she stared contemplatively at something past his shoulder. "Our job's a bit odd," she began, slowly, her voice automatically dropping at least two level as it always did whenever she spoke about work. "It's brilliant and the things we see you can't compare it to anything else. But you also can't really talk about it either."

She wiped her fingers on her napkin, turning her attention back to Ianto, her eyes shining. "There's so much that happens around us. Wonderful things and also not so wonderful things. But they're usually all things we can't share with our family or our friends outside of Torchwood. Sometimes it's just helpful to have a place where you can write down everything. Just to get it out."

There was something in her voice that made Ianto unconsciously reach across to her again, this time to grasp her hand. "I want you to be able to have a place for your thoughts," Lisa continued, squeezing his hand back. "I know you have tons," she added with a small smile. "You need something where you can share them all before it starts to strain at you."

"I already do," Ianto assured her, pulling himself closer to her. "I've got you."

Lisa's expression quirked to a slightly more teasing one. "But will you always have me, Welshman?" she asked, reverting back to the superhero-sounding nickname she used to call him during the early days of their friendship. Before it had become something closer and significantly stronger.

Closing the small distance between them, Ianto softly kissed her. "I'm counting on it."

Mild surprise flitted across Lisa's face, as if she hadn't been expecting such an answer. But now that she had, a warm, giddy smile lit up her face. "Oh, good," she replied, happily. "Because so am I."

* * *

There was a requisite knock on the door before it swung open. Rupert Howarth drew in a sharp breath to lay into the new arrival for entering without permission, but then saw who it was and calmly returned to the microscope he'd been staring into.

"Rupert?" inquired Ianto, quietly. Rupert grunted. "It's five to three."

The scientist grunted again and wistfully thought how nice it would be if that invisibility shield they'd discovered last week could be declassified for use by personnel with a level 8 security clearance. "Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting right now?" Ianto persisted.

"No?"

"Rupert." For a man nearly half Rupert's age, Ianto had a terribly annoying habit of being able to make the older man feel like a scolded schoolboy.

"I don't think he's coming," said Rupert with some desperation, refusing to look up from his work to meet Ianto's glare. "I heard it's raining cats, dogs, the entire zoo over in Cardiff today."

"Jolene just called to say he's in conference room six."

Rupert swore colorfully and threw himself back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't have time for this. He needed to get these cultures done by today if he hoped to get new data readings to modulate a new serum by tomorrow. Besides, meetings required diplomacy and patience. None of which Rupert possessed and couldn't be bothered to try and fake. Across from his lab table, Ianto watched him, looking amused. "You can stand in for me," declared Rupert.

"I'm a junior researcher," Ianto began.

"Yes, I know that," Rupert snapped. "I gave you the job."

"And you're head of the department."

"Yes, also aware of that, thank you," Rupert growled, finding the information redundant and unnecessary. "And I'm your boss so this is me delegating." He waved a dismissing hand. "Be gone. Off with you. Send the same sentiments to whatever his name is."

"Jack Harkness."

"Yes, whatever. See? You're already ahead of me. Let me know how it goes." Rupert firmly turned his attention back to his cultures. After a few seconds, he felt the crown of his head growing hot under Ianto's laser-like stare, "I don't hear you exiting."

"That's because I'm not going to until you do," Ianto replied. When Rupert groaned, the younger man pushed a folder across the lab table toward him. Giving his cultures up for loss at the moment, Rupert eyed the file and noted the color of it. Blue. Blue meant a Class D artifact. "That's Jenkins' territory," Rupert said. "Make him talk to Harkness about it."

"Jenkins is under you. You're the head." Rupert swore again. "It's your own fault, Rupert. You wrote in the protocol that anyone requesting an item out of your labs has to meet with you first to go over all the necessary details."

"Yes, I only wrote that in so that no one would make such an annoying request."

"I don't think Harkness is going to take no for an answer. Jolene reported he seemed pretty eager about the whole thing."

"What's he asking for again?"

"Item number 328D."

"Of all the bloody nerve!"

Ianto cracked a smile. "That's what Yvonne said."

"Dear lord help me if I'm quoting Yvonne Hartman now," moaned Rupert.

"I think she's hoping you could dissuade him with your usual pleasant demeanor," Ianto speculated, leaning against the lab table.

Scratching his beard, Rupert shuffled through the file, noting that all the paperwork was in hopelessly good order. "Honestly, Ianto, can't you just send the man on his way?" Seeing Ianto draw in a breath to argue, Rupert hurried on, "You're the only one in our department who's not enough of a genius to completely lack a sense of social grace."

Ianto blinked slowly. "I think you just insulted me," he commented.

"See?" Rupert demanded, feeling that well proved his point. "And I was trying for a compliment." He pushed the folder back toward him.

"I'm working on your budget report that's due in an hour," said Ianto, refusing to touch the folder. "Besides, I don't even know why Captain Harkness shouldn't be allowed to take the item. It's alien perhaps, but not a threat or a weapon so far as we can tell. I wouldn't know how to begin the argument to turn down his request."

"You could lead in with how we found it first," Rupert suggested. "And that we're Torchwood. That's usually Hartman's line."

"He's Torchwood as well," Ianto pointed out.

"Yes, well, Torchwood _Cardiff_," Rupert scoffed.

Ianto sighed. "On the behalf of Welsh people everywhere, thank you, you twpsyn."

"Er…no offense," Rupert added, a sentence too late.

"In the time we've had this conversation, you could have given the item to Harkness and re-filed the paperwork to get it back by now." Ianto leaned back, studying Rupert a little more closely, noting that beneath the man's usual prickly attitude against meetings, there was the usual sheen of anxiety that seemed to plague the older man these days. "Is something else the matter?"

"No," Rupert gestured vaguely to his microscope. "I really need to be working on these cultures. Take readings and the like. There's just never enough bloody time!" he exclaimed, frustration now leaking out of him. He took a deep cleansing breath that didn't do much cleansing and pressed his hands into his hair.

Ianto frowned at the genuine distress that seemed to be creeping up in his mentor's face as Rupert stared at nothing in particular. "I can look after the cultures for you while you have your meeting," he offered.

The gesture seemed to snap Rupert out of his trance. "No, no," he waved off. "Never mind. It's not something you should be doing."

"I know I don't have Dr. Jenkins' brain power, but I can take readings off cultures," said Ianto, annoyed. "If you're that swamped, I'd be more qualified to do this than sub for you in a meeting."

"This isn't about intelligence," Rupert replied. "It's…" _About secrecy. Security. Covert experiments that only six people know about. Technically seven if you count the subject. It's about bloody Torchwood's sense of ethics and Yvonne bloody Hartman who'll sell me out if she has to, the witch. _ "It's something Hartman gave to me to handle and I need to do it on my own." Taking the file back, he waved it at Ianto. "And I'll take care of this. You finish the budget report. At least that's one thing I won't have to do."

"Are you sure?" asked Ianto.

"Yes, yes," Rupert sighed. "It seems I'm destined to never have enough time."

"Rupert, are you alright?" Ianto inquired.

"Yes, of course."

"Really alright?"

Rupert glanced up at the younger man and wondered not for the first time if he'd made a mistake in hiring him. It wasn't that Ianto Jones wasn't capable. He had good potential to become an excellent researcher with the right training. But the only reason why Rupert knew he himself had survived so long at Torchwood was because of his own natural, burning curiosity. Despite everything he'd done and seen that played merry hell with his concept of morals, Rupert could never quite stop himself or walk away. Because he was always so close to his goal. So close to that new answer or new discovery. Curiosity won over morals every time.

But Ianto…it was painfully clear to Rupert that Ianto's scales tipped in favor of morals. And Rupert truly and honestly hated the idea that one day the scales might drop the other way.

"Rupert?"

The researcher shook himself at the concern in Ianto's tone. "It's fine," he assured. "I'm just hoping that one day we'll find some alien tech that'll make 24 hours into 36 hours so that I could get some work done," he joked, weakly. "In any case, I'll go talk to Harkness."

Ianto continued to stare at him, slightly unconvinced. But he finally nodded. "Conference room six," he reminded.

"Yes, thank you," Rupert replied. He took a last reading of the cultures, noted it and snapped off the microscope. "By the way," he said. "Are you still seeing that Hallet woman in Analysis?"

"Her name's Lisa. And yes, I am."

"Ah. And when do you plan on marrying her?"

Ianto laughed. "It's been barely a year. Don't you think that's rushing it a bit?"

Rupert shrugged, putting on his lab coat. "One thing you'll learn about life at Torchwood, Ianto, is that it's nothing but a series of interruptions. Case in point: this," he said, gesturing with the blue folder now in his hand. "And since you're also the only one in our department who has a prayer of getting married and procreating, I suggest you do it quick march before something gets in the way."

"Well, thank you for the advice, but as the one who's earned the reputation of being marriage material, I'll decide when to ask her," said Ianto wryly.

"Just try and keep a life outside of this place," advised Rupert, somehow finding himself unable to pull his mind from the morose gutter it had landed in.

"I'll do my best," Ianto promised. He gave Rupert a final look. "You sure you don't need help with this?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Absently patting down his pockets, Rupert silently cursed. "Left my ID somewhere. You go ahead and get back to the report. I'll just buzz Jolene and tell her I'm running a bit late."

Ianto narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Rupert sighed. "I swear on my life. Now go."

With a last look and nod, Ianto turned and exited.

Rupert watched the younger man disappear around the corner, waited another minute and then picked up the phone by his desk.

"Jenkins? It's Howarth. Look, can you send someone to storage and get out item 328D? There's a man named Harkness who…yes, the head of the Cardiff branch…yes. In any case, give it to him, would you? I have his paperwork and it's all in order."

As he spoke, Rupert sat back down at his microscope and switched it on. "Never mind about the bloody protocol. I only wrote it in so that….look, yes, I know Hartman'll have a fit, but it's our department's and it's under my jurisdiction and I say let him take the damn hand. I'm sure she'll better appreciate me getting the readings done for tomorrow's operation. Yes, I'll deal with her, don't worry about that. Fine…yes…that's perfect. Thank you."

Setting the phone down, Rupert focused back on his cultures.

Curiosity won every time.

THE END


	4. Personal Agenda

Final one!

Spoilers for "Cyberwoman" and "Fragments."

* * *

_"You like to think you're a hero. But you're the biggest monster of all."_

* * *

If he found it a little unnerving how easy it was to regain access to what was left of Torchwood London, Ianto didn't show it. Instead, he calmly re-entered the building through where he'd exited with Lisa and began his steady march back up to the mid floors where he'd found her. Around him, he saw the red berets of UNIT bustling about as well as a few shell-shocked individuals that Ianto guessed were either plainclothes UNIT personnel or maybe even Torchwood personnel. Maybe even Torchwood London personnel.

Someone else must have survived.

Despite the shouts and clipped commands being issued, it was plainly obvious to Ianto that those now in authority were having a difficult time establishing a stream-lined order for the disarray that was still smoking around them. He continued to walk like he had a purpose and everyone left him alone until he got to the stairwell. From there, he forewent the calm demeanor and raced up the stairs. He hadn't been faking his determined stance. He did have a purpose. He had to get back to the conversion unit from where he'd taken Lisa.

Panic had driven him earlier. Panic and a desperate need to get her out of the hell they'd all fallen into. He remembered screaming for help. He remembered her screaming to not just leave. To go back and take the main conversion panels with him. He remembered taking a standard Torchwood London SUV. He'd driven to her place, ignoring the lingering swatches of chaos on the public streets. Under her faltering instructions, he'd used the medical equipment in the kit inside the SUV and the still warm parts of the conversion unit he'd managed to salvage to stabilize her.

But it wouldn't last her long. Even without her telling him, though she did, Lisa needed the larger unit. It would be the only thing that would be able to keep her alive until he thought of something else.

When Ianto got to his destination, he saw the conversion unit was just as he'd left it. The main bed was still intact, though the sides were twisted and leaking wires from where he'd ripped at the panels earlier. Staring at the thing that had, in degrees, tried to erase Lisa, Ianto wanted to take a crowbar and start destroying it. He wanted to smash it and grind every last speck of metal into nothingness.

But he couldn't. He needed it. Lisa needed it.

_Then what? _

Now that he'd reached his preliminary goal, his brain let slip through the one question Ianto had resolutely ignored earlier. What was he going to do once he got Lisa stabilized? Where would they go? He'd seen the body bags being lined up in the cleared offices as he'd walked through. They were killing the partially converted. They weren't even trying to find a cure or find a way to reverse what had happened. They would take one look at Lisa and execute her.

_But what will you do? You can't find a cure. No one can. Who will you even ask?_ His mind relentlessly questioned.

A different kind of panic began to settle into Ianto's bones. He couldn't do this. He needed help. He couldn't do this on his own. Lisa was counting on him and he was about to fail.

Lost in the mounting terror, he almost missed the sounds of footsteps coming his way. Reflexively, he moved into what had been a supply closet, out of sight. Peering through the crack in the doorway, Ianto saw a woman with curly dark hair enter the room.

"Jack," she called over her shoulder. "I've got another one here."

Shortly behind her came in a tall, dark haired man wearing a greatcoat.

It was Jack Harkness. While Ianto could only see his profile, he recognized the man from the security logs back when he'd come the once to Torchwood London. If Harkness was here that meant Torchwood Cardiff was also here.

"Are we taking this?" asked the dark-haired woman, peering at the dismantled controls. "It's definitely shot up. The main panels are gone. I doubt anyone could do anything with this without those."

"We're taking it," Harkness stated, firmly. "Anything on Tosh's list, we're taking back with us. Take it apart and load it up."

"It'll just take up more space in the archives. Have you even seen the state of that area lately?"

"I don't need your commentary, Suzie."

Ianto tensed when Harkness turned to cast a glance around the area. The blue eyes swept past the door to the supply closet, but if the older man noticed it being slightly ajar, it didn't hold his attention. Ianto got a clear look at Harkness' face now that the captain had turned his back to the dark-haired woman. Harkness' features, which had been artfully arranged to look stoically calm now eased. Watching from his hiding spot, Ianto saw a look of grief pass over the older man's face.

Suddenly, Ianto wanted to walk out and beg Harkness for help. He wanted to plead with the head of Torchwood Cardiff, the one renegade branch that had never followed by Yvonne's rules and therefore quite possibly might show mercy, to help him. To help him save Lisa and ease the weight that was crushing down on him.

But even as his fingers wrapped around the door knob, someone else walked into the room and called Harkness' name. The features rearranged themselves back to their earlier mask.

"Jack." It was another man. Wiry, dark-haired. "You should take a look at this list." He waved a piece of paper toward Harkness. "It's still a work in progress, but I reckon in an hour or so I should get the final numbers, which should be closer to 25. Maybe even 30."

"What is it?" asked Harkness, not taking the paper.

"A list of survivors."

"I've already seen the casualty list," Harkness replied, coldly. But even so, there was a small crack of grief in his voice.

The other man blinked before he waved the paper at Harkness again. "I know. This is a list of survivors."

Harkness stared at the paper being thrust at him for a moment before he pushed it back toward the other man, unread. "I don't need to see that, Owen."

"But it's got contact information for...aren't we going to do something?" asked Owen.

"Like what?" The steel in Harkness' voice made Suzie pause from her work and look up.

"What do you mean?" Owen demanded, looking confused. "These people are probably traumatized. We'll need to get them the proper care. Set up counseling. Or…" His voice trailed off when he saw the hard look he was getting from Harkness and the somewhat pitying one he was getting from Suzie.

"Counseling is not our job," Harkness stated.

"I thought helping people was," retorted Owen. "Jack, the casualty number is in the hundreds. These are the only survivors. You can't just leave them."

"We help people against alien threats, not pull them out of the graves they dug for themselves!" snapped Harkness.

Owen gaped for a moment. "You can't be serious."

"You want to talk numbers?" Harkness asked, icily. "How many people do you think have died today, yesterday, years back because of what those people on that list did? How many lives do you think have been lost because of these survivors?"

"You don't even know these people!" Owen protested, still holding out the list. "You don't know what their jobs were here. We're talking possibly the bloody canteen staff!"

"They're Torchwood London," stated Harkness. "And they have nothing to do with us." His tone left no room for argument. "Help Suzie break that down and load it up in the SUV." When Owen opened his mouth, Harkness cut him off before he even began. "If you don't like it, you can quit." Owen closed his mouth and slowly retracted the hand that held the list of survivors. "We leave in 30 minutes."

Ianto eased his hold on the door knob, not realizing until he tried to uncurl his fingers that he'd been gripping it so hard, his knuckles were cracking. He stared as Suzie walked up next to Owen who was staring off where Harkness had exited.

"You'll get used to it," she said, mildly.

"This isn't right," Owen gritted out.

"Jack has a bad history with Torchwood London. And besides, he's not wrong. We're here to salvage. Not set up group counseling."

"He hired me to help save lives," protested Owen.

Suzie gave him a humorless smile. "Ever think some lives aren't worth saving?" When Owen stared at her in disbelief, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Owen, really. I'm not saying it to be cruel. But you'll need to think about those kinds of distinctions if you want to work with Torchwood. With Jack." She waited a beat as Owen processed the information. "Now, come on. Give me a hand with this."

As she moved back to the conversion unit, Owen cast one more glance over to where Harkness had exited before crumpling the paper in his hand into a tight ball. "Fuck it," he whispered. "Fuck it all." Marching over to join Suzie, he grabbed the tool she was holding out to him and began to angrily dismantle the unit.

Ianto watched as the two from Torchwood Cardiff took apart the unit in under fifteen minutes and packed it away. He watched as they left with the parts, taking away what he needed to help Lisa.

Because he would help her.

A calm started to settle over him as he slowly formulated his plans, taking the place of the cold anger that had filled him when Harkness hadn't even glanced at the list. He would save Lisa. Because now he knew no one else would. No one was going to help them. Help him. He was alone in this. That knowledge hardened his resolve and hardened him against Torchwood Cardiff. He was going to get their assistance. Whether they wanted to give it or not.

* * *

The sparse wooded areas of Cardiff smelled the same to Ianto as they had when he'd been a child. A few months after their move, he and his parents had gone on a picnic in one of the small forests just along the edge of the city. Despite almost two decades rolling by, Ianto still recalled the damp, comforting scent that had swirled around him that day.

The same scent filled his head again when he took a deep breath as he watched Harkness wrestle with a Weevil a few feet in front of him. Ianto had been tailing the man for nearly three hours and had been almost grateful when a Weevil had finally made its appearance. The creature was fairly big and it looked like Harkness was going to lose what little upper hand he currently had.

A small shiver of guilt skated through Ianto's mind, which he quickly doused by conjuring up the memory of the last time he'd seen Harkness at Canary Wharf. The man might have been opposed to Yvonne Hartman, but that didn't make him any better than her. He was still a Torchwood director and as such, kindness and being treated kindly didn't come into it.

A snarl from the Weevil brought Ianto's focus back to the mini-battle raging in front of him. The captain's coat billowed out like some hero's cape as he was spun into a tree. Reaching down, Ianto picked up a thick fallen branch. He swung it once to test its weight and calmly began to walk toward Harkness.

THE END


End file.
